Stargate SG13 Episode 1: Excursion in Chaos
by ChaosLightning13
Summary: Ten years ago SG1 stumbled across a world full of magic. Now they're back, along with a crazy author who wrote stories about the world, and they must save some of its real gods from the falsegodevilbadguys known as the Goa'uld. ActionAdventureFantasy
1. The Message

Stargate SG-13

Episode 1: Fantasy

Chapter 1 (you know, the part that comes before the first commercial)

Disclaimer: I hereby disclaim all rights to Stargate. I do, however, own the idea of Omalya (at least on this world; I'm not sure how the Omalyans will react to my ownership of their planet. Maybe I'm a system lord).

* * *

"Colonel, we've got a request for you. From the Air Force."

"The Air Force?" I looked up. Why the Hell would the Air Force be sending a request to _me_? I was just a Colonel in the United States Army. I worked in Military Intelligence—cryptography, mostly, although I had gone on a few missions as an Intelligence Agent. I was afraid of heights, for crying out loud! "What's it about?"

The poor lieutenant was obviously just as bewildered as I was. "It's from the Cheyenne Mountain Complex, ma'am."

"The Cheyenne Mountain Complex?" I repeated, beginning to get a glimmer of what this was all about.

"Yes, ma'am. Aren't they studying deep-space radar?"

"Something like that," I agreed. As a matter of fact, I had no idea what their cover was, but I did know what they were really doing in the Complex, and it had nothing to do with deep-space radar. I had been there, ten years previously. I had seen it. The truth of the matter was that the Cheyenne Mountain Complex his the most highly classified government project on the face of the earth. And it was in the hands of the Air Force. _'Cause they teach 'em how to fly, then they crash an' burn an' die._ I was, quite possibly, the only person in the entire Army who knew what was concealed beneath that mountain. "What do they want?"

"They need you to go there, ma'am. Apparently it's confidential. They said to give you the code-word 'Omalya.'"

"Omalya?" I demanded, as the memories flooded back. Omalya was something I'd been trying to forget. It was a world, my world, the world I'd made up while I was in high school. But because of a certain incident ten years ago, I'd stopped writing about it altogether. That should give you an idea of how serious it was. Writing was my life—still is my life, in fact. Otherwise I wouldn't be writing this. It'll never get published, at least not in the foreseeable future. So mostly, I'm writing it for myself. But I digress.

The reason I had put Omalya behind me is a hard one to believe, and I often found myself wondering whether it had all been just a dream—the phone call, Colonel O'Neill coming to my house, the Cheyenne Mountain Complex, the Stargate, Omalya—everything. The very idea of what had happened was so unnatural I'm somewhat surprised I didn't go insane—but then, at sixteen I was half-convinced that my world was real, and that by singing the Song of Chaos I could open the Chaos Tunnel and go there. So I didn't go mad when it turned out it _was_ real.

That was the big shock. The Stargate, that gigantic secret that the government thought would cause panic if it got out, wasn't that big a deal to me. I was comfortable with the idea of wormholes, and aliens were a fact of life. I lived what I read, and what I read was mostly fantasy and science fiction. What I _wasn't_ comfortable with was the fact that Omalya, the world I had created, was real. _That_ was what I'd been trying to forget. But apparently the Air Force wasn't going to let that happen. They wanted me back.

"Yes, ma'am," he confirmed. "Omalya. Do you know it?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. It's a world I made up. I have no earthly idea why the Air Force would use it as a code word." As you probably know, that was a cover. A good cover, because it was true. I had made up the world of Omalya, and it and the Stargate were not of Earth. "Was there anything else?"

"Someone named Dr. Jackson wanted to talk to you, ma'am."

"Daniel!" I exclaimed, genuinely pleased. Daniel Jackson was a cute Egyptologist with whom I had worked during my trip to Omalya. "Well, I suppose I had better be going. I mustn't keep Danny-boy waiting."

The lieutenant looked at me crazy. It was that old are-you-quite-sane look I got all the time in high school. By this time I was used to it. _He must be new,_ I decided. Those who had known me for a while were used to my personal eccentricities.

_So Daniel's involved in this,_ I mused as I left the room. _I wonder if Colonel O'Neill is involved as well?_ Despite the fact that he was in the Air Force (as opposed to the Army), I genuinely liked Colonel O'Neill. He was a pretty funny guy, and I liked people who could make me laugh. I especially liked his description of the Stargate as "an intergalactic toilet that flushes sideways."

I saluted my superior officer. "Permission to withdraw, sir." Naturally, my superior officer was a guy. There really weren't enough women in the Army. Or in the Air Force, for that matter. Captain Carter was in the definite minority.

Ah, yes, Captain Samantha Carter. She was the expert on all things technological in SG-1. There hadn't been much use for her on Omalya, although she had definitely been fascinated by all the magic.

"Permission granted. The President himself has given orders that you are to be taken to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex as soon as we can arrange a flight."

"That bad, huh? Bet the Air Force has gotten themselves in trouble and they need the Army to bail them out." In truth, I had the utmost confidence in the Air Force as the world's first line of defense against Goa'uld attack, but it was a running joke in the Army that the other service branches were incapable of doing their jobs.

General Meyers smiled. "Dismissed. We'll miss you, girl. Be safe."

I relaxed a bit, finishing the salute. "Eh, how can I go wrong? What's the danger in deep-space radar, right?"

"Just don't get into any fights with the people in the Air Force, you hear?"

"Me? Get into fights? Would I ever do that?" I asked, faking innocence.

"Get out of here before I decide to order you to stay."

I laughed and left.

* * *

I occupied myself on the flight over by thinking of why SGC might have need of me. Since it was Dr. Jackson in particular who wanted to talk to me, it had to be something to do with translation. Perhaps he had come across one of the other languages. If that was the case, I'd probably have to make a quick trip to my house in North Carolina, where I kept all the stuff I didn't need in the military. It was quite a nice house, actually. By the beach, no less. And hurricane-proof. Definitely hurricane-proof. I had survived the legendary year of 2004, when Florida got hit by three hurricanes in the space of a month. Actually, that had been my last year in Florida, my Senior year in high school. So I moved to North Carolina and built myself a hurricane-proof house. I knew it was hurricane-proof, because it had been hit by a hurricane once, and it had survived completely intact. My yard, however, had been a mess. After that I had seriously considered moving to Nebraska. But then I'd have to deal with tornados, and those things are worse than hurricanes. And it would probably snow during the spring. Now, snow is nice in the winter, and I know vacationers from Florida love it when it snows during Spring Break (I was one as a child), but when I've just survived three months of snow, I'm ready for a break. So North Carolina is a really nice place for me to live. Except that I don't exactly live there. But I will. Eventually.

Now, if anyone ever reads this, I'm sure they'll wonder how the Hell I ever managed to afford a nice house on the beach. I mean, being an officer in the Army is a nice job and all, but it doesn't pay all that well. The thing is, though, I have this other job. I'm a writer. In fact, I'm more than that. I'm a best-selling author. I've been a great writer since I was a teenager. One of my poems was published in an anthology when I was fifteen.

"Hi," said the little boy sitting next to me. "My name's Jason. What's yours?"

"Kali," I replied, my mind on other things.

"Cool!" he said. "That's the name of my favorite author. Kali Rainwater."

I smiled slightly. That was my name. _That_ was how I'd made enough money to buy myself a house: writing books (not that I actually suggest that as a paying job; trust me, I was more surprised than anyone else when my first book hit the best-seller list). I'd written several, all but one set on Earth; after the incident with Omalya, I had never quite gotten up the courage to make up another world. "Do you have any of the books with you?" I asked. I was careful to word it so that it didn't tell him that they were my books, and yet I wasn't exactly implying they weren't, either.

"Are you kidding? I've got the very first book she published!' He dug through his carry-on bag for a while. When he came up, he was triumphantly clutching a copy of _The Legacy of War_, the only book I had published that was about Omalya. I'd finished it in the few years after my visit to the planet, during the time when it was still easy to believe and the thought of it didn't freak me out. "Here it is. She got it published when she was nineteen. I don't know how she managed it. She was going to West Point at the time!"

"Mostly I did without sleep," I told him with a smile. I watched to see what his reaction would be.

He began to nod, then did a double-take. "No way! _You're_ Kali Rainwater? That is so awesome! Say, can I get your autograph?"

I shrugged. "Sure." He gave me the book. I took a pen out of my pocket—there were about fifty in there, in case I ever needed one, say if I had some inspiration for a new book while I was way out in the middle of nowhere with the nearest store being fifty miles away. I signed the name "Lightning RainH2O." It was the name I used for autographs so that people couldn't use an autograph to forge my signature. A bit paranoid, yes, but paranoia is a survival skill in the military.

"Are you really in the Army? What do you do?" he asked breathlessly.

"I'm in Military Intelligence. Cryptology. It's quite fascinating, really. I'd write a book on it, but I'd have to shoot anyone who actually read it."

He laughed. "Classified?"

"Yep."

"My dad's work is like that, too. He works at the Cheyenne Mountain Complex. I'm flying in to visit him."

"Civilian or Air Force?" I asked, more to keep the conversation going than anything else. I'm the type of person who really likes to talk. It's a wonder they trusted me with such a big secret as the Stargate—but then, they hadn't had much of a choice. In addition, there was the fact that even if I _had_ let it slip, everyone would have thought that it was just another one of my stories. But it never came to that; I do know how to keep a secret.

"Civilian," Jason replied. "He's a scientist."

"What's his name?" Maybe I would come across him while I was there.

"David Miller."

Jason fell silent. I went back to my own thoughts, wondering why the Hell the Air Force had sent for me. It had to have something to do with Omalya; otherwise they would have used SGC as a code-word, or perhaps SG-1.

I wondered briefly how Blake would react if he found out the Air Force had specifically requested me for this project. Blake was my brother, a bratty little kid who had gone into the Air Force to probe that he was at least as good as I was. I was somewhat surprised he hadn't gone to the Naval Academy; after all, the rivalry between Army and Navy was notorious, even infamous. But he had gone into the Air Force, and had bragged to me quite often about how he was part of a top-secret government project. He claimed it had something to do with radar. Somehow I doubted that. It didn't seem to match up with his double-major of astrophysics and quantum mechanics.

My thoughts wandered off on their own, as they were wont to do. For the first time in several years I thought about Omalya. It really wasn't such a bad place. It was just impossible. _"Nothing is impossible, except bringing the dead back to life—and even _that_ has been done." _My Senior quote. For where I saw myself in ten years, I'd put: "In Hawaii, with my rocket scientist husband, doing research for my next book." That had been before the whole adventure in Omalya. It hadn't even crossed my mind that I might be involved in a top-secret government project to explore other worlds. Such as Omalya.

Omalya began as just Zeflan, a magical island inspired by Xanth. Zeflan is perfectly round. That idea probably came from Mercedes Lackey's Lake Evendim. I rather liked Lake Evendim; the fishers there are all descended from pirates, and although I didn't like pirates when I created Zeflan, I did become obsessed with them later on. At one time pirate ships were some of the most democratic places on Earth.

I chased that line of thought back to its beginning. Pirates—Lake Evendim—Zeflan—Omalya. I had become quite proficient at it, because my thoughts often went off on tangents of their own, while I was trying to think of something else entirely.

So. Omalya. It really took off when I came up with Khéós. As I recall, Khéós, which means "Chaos," began as the idea of the Chaos Tunnel, a passage that could be opened between any two points. It was rather like a wormhole. I came up with it sometime around February of 2002, if I recall correctly. Or maybe it was before then; I'm really not sure. It somehow developed into the idea of a land called Chaos, which had no Sun, but instead revolved around a glowing Moon. After a while I decided it would be easier to write about if it had a Sun like a normal planet, but I still liked my original idea. So I had the Moon destroyed, and my character Mera, who was Queen of Chaos, created a Sun. There was still another, smaller Moon, so it was a more normal planet, much easier to write about. However, there was still the option of writing about a time before the Sun, or _aprí Méré_ in Khéósin.

A bit later, I got bored of only having one kingdom, so I decided to split it up into smaller kingdoms, each of which used to be a duchy. Most of the stories I wrote were about the time after Korinth, last King of Chaos, but _The Legacy of War_, the only one I published, began on the day of Korinth's birth. The end of it was at the very beginning of Korinth's reign. However, the story itself had very little to do with Korinth; the timing was mostly coincidental.

"What are you thinking about?" Jason asked me.

"Omalya," I replied.

"Could you tell me more about it? I've always been curious about it. Why'd you stop writing about it?"

I shrugged. "Some of the stuff I was writing bordered on classified information. The government didn't like it." I presented the lie as plain fact. I had had some experience at that over the years I had spent in the military. Not that I lied to my superior officers; but there was classified information that had to be protected by believable lies. Like the Stargate.

"So where are you going?"

I considered saying "Omalya." It was what I would have said if I had been going anywhere else. But since it was dangerously close to the truth, I didn't. "I'm going to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex."

"Awesome!" After that exclamation, he thought about it for a bit. "Say, aren't you in the Army?"

"Aye." My habit of slipping into my "pirate" dialect whenever something got on my nerves (like someone asking a question I'd already answered) had gotten me into trouble in the Army, but I never learned. It was part of my personality to be annoying; I knew that and accepted it.

"So why are you going to the CMC? Isn't that an Air Force base?"

"O' course it is, mate. But them Air Force fellers are so incompetent they need the Army to help 'em out, savvy?"

A slight wince passed over his face. I had just mixed a Southern accent with pirate brogue, and when I mixed accents, the result was never pretty. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means 'do you understand?'"

"In that case, I don't savvy."

"It has to do with the competition between different branches of the military. It's mostly a joke. The Air Force is actually extremely competent at what they do."

"Oh."

"Kyux?" I asked, the old habit brought back to life by my recent thoughts of Omalya. Back in the days before I knew about the Stargate, and during the years immediately after, I would say "kyux" instead of "okay."

"Kyux," he affirmed with a grin. He knew the word because it appeared in _The Legacy of War_ as the Khéósin word for "okay."

I glanced out the window. "Looks like we're about to land."

The captain's voice came over the intercom, telling us that we would be landing shortly. Several minutes later, we came down on the runway with the slightest of bumps. As I disembarked from the plane, I saw Daniel Jackson. He was looking at each of the passengers, trying to spot me. His eyes passed right over me. _I feel so loved._ "Danny-boy!" I called. "Over here!"

"Oh!" he exclaimed, his surprise evident. "You've villed out."

"Just a bit," I agreed. At sixteen, I had been a stick of a girl, tall and thin and stronger than I had any right to be. But four years of intense physical training had given me muscles I hadn't had before, and I wasn't quite as flatchested as I used to be. I could still pass for a boy, but not as easily as before.

"Jack wasn't too happy about calling you back," Daniel told me as we walked side by side toward the baggage claim.

"I'm sure he'll tell me he was opposed—just for the record." I smiled, thinking about Jack, I definitely didn't have a thing for him, not like I had a thing for Danny-boy, even though I knew that was hopeless. Daniel Jackson already had a wife, Sha'uri, who had been taken by the Goa'uld. He was searching all over the galaxy for her. As for Jack, he made me laugh, and I really liked to laugh. Going into Military Intelligence hadn't changed that aspect of my personality. I was somewhat disappointed that he didn't seem to like me in return.

"He kept muttering about airborne rangers."

Ah. That would explain it. At sixteen, my rather abrasive personality had led me to sing a cadence I had learned during the week I spent at West Point for the Invitational Academic Workshop. _Oh, there are no airborne rangers in the Air Force. In the Air Force! Oh, there are no airborne rangers in the Air Force. In the Air Force! 'Cause they teach 'em how to fly, then they crash an' burn an' die, oh, there are no airborne rangers in the Air Force. In the Air Force!_ For some reason the dear colonel had found the song offensive. Apparently he had remembered it, while Danny-boy had not.

Once inside the secure premises of SGC, Daniel began to brief me on the situation. "We received a message from Omalya. It's written in an alphabet no one recognizes. We thought you might."

"I'll have to see it before I can say for sure," I told him, "but I suspect it's written in Khéósin letters. I may be able to translate them, but I'll probably need your help. Something is wrong over on Omalya, or the message would have been in the Roman alphabet. Mera and her friends know it, even if no one else does. To keep the message from being deciphered, it's probably in Khéósin as well. By the way, where is it?"

"Actually, I have it right here." He took a piece of parchment out of his pocket and handed it to me.

As I looked at it, the memories came flooding back. Laying sprawled across the floor of my room, a book open before me, coming up with the language. "Get me a copy of _The Return of the King_," I ordered in a peremptory voice. Tolkien's alphabet had been the basis for my own.

Daniel left, and Jack entered. "So, do you know what it says?" Jack asked. He must have missed the whole _Return of the King_ bit.

"Well," I said, taking a look at the parchment, "it starts with a 'K.'"

"That's helpful."

"I'm pretty sure the next letter is a vowel."

"Very helpful."

"Would you care to translate it, Colonel?"

"It's General."

"Excuse me, sire. Would you care to translate it, _General_?"

"No."

I got back to work. A few minutes later, Daniel reappeared, carrying a copy of _The Return of the King_. "Here's the book you asked for."

"Thanks," I said absently. I put the book on the table and promptly forgot all about it.

"What have you got so far?"

I showed him what I had written. "K-0-2-3! 4-5-0-í-6-í-5 7-l-8-5-9-10-í-5 k-7-l-11-5 12-13 k-0-l-2 14-11-15-2-16. 4-l-13-10-13-5 17-13-10-11-4-l 18-13 19-11-k-4-l 5-8-19-2-16. K-2-20-13-17-21-10 4-l-13-10-2-17 11-5-13 22-2-11-21-l-3-í-17. 4-l-13-10-13-5 11-5-18-11-17-23-2-10-8-17 k-2-17-á-16."

"Ah, that says 'Goa'uld,'" Daniel said, pointing at the last word in the fourth sentence. "I've seen it before."

I filled that in, spelling it in the Khéósin manner (meaning phonetically), then went back and filled in the letters that matched up to those symbols. I now had: "K-0-ó-d! 4-5-0-í-6-í-5 7-l-8-5-9-10-í-5 k-7-1-a-5 d-13 k-0-l- 14-a-15-ó-16. 4-l-13-10-13-5 17-13-10-a-4-l 18-13 19-a-k-4-l 5-8-19-ó-16. K-ó-20-13-17-ú-10 4-l-13-10-ó-17 a-5-13 G-ó-a-ú-l-d-í-17. 4-l-13-10-13-5 a-5-18-a-17-23-ó-10-8-17 k-ó-17-á-16."

"I think that first word is 'kai'ód,'" Daniel said. "It means 'help!'"

That definitely made sense. The message was a plea for help. I wrote it down.

"That word means 'sky,'" he said, pointing at the newly completed "kailó." "So the word before it is probably 'dé,' which means 'down from.'"

"Like in Latin," I said. Of course part of the language was like Latin—or at least, it seemed like 'of course' at the time I thought it. I had created the language, hadn't I? And when I created it, I was taking Latin, so that would influence my creativity. _It's kinda strange, how he's translating for me the language that I made up._ For some reason that thought struck me as funny. I laughed. Daniel gave me an odd look. "Oh, it just struck me how absurd it is for you to be tutoring me in a language I made up."

I went back to the translation. "These words have the same ending, so the word between them is probably 'té.' _That_ much I remember. It means 'and.'" A conspiratorial grin came across my face. "It's 'et' backwards." I permitted myself a small look at his reaction—an amused grin—before returning to my work. We now had: "K-ai-ó-d! 4-5-ai-í-6-í-5 7-l-8-5-9-10-í-5 k-7-l-a-5 d- k-ai-l- 14-a-15-ó-16. 4-l-é-10-é-5 17-é-10-a-4-l t- 19-a-k-4-l 5-8-19-ó-16. K-ó-20-é-17-ú-10 4-l-é-10-ó-17 a-5- G-ó-a-ú-l-d-í-17. 4-l-é-10-é-5 a-5-t-a-17-23-ó-10-8-17 k-ó-17-á-16."

"Assuming the first word in the sentence is in the nominative case—a reasonable assumption, based on Khéósin sentence structure—it would have to be plural. That would make the last letter 's.'"

"Right," I said. As I filled in the s's, an idea came to me. It was similar to what I had often felt years ago when I got inspiration for a new Omalya story. "These two words," I said, pointing at the words surrounding the "té." "I think they're names. Mera and Zak. They've been captured by the Goa'uld."

"Are you sure? Aren't they supposed to be a god and a goddess?"

"No, I'm not sure, and yes, they _are_ a god and a goddess, but they have no power where there's no magic. Perhaps the magic stops outside Omalya's solar system. In that case, if the Goa'uld took them while they were unconscious, and then flew in their spaceship until they were outside the system, Mera and Zak would be powerless. So let's assume that's what it says, and see if we get anywhere."

When I finished filling in the new letters, I studied the paper. "K-ai-ó-d! 4-s-ai-í-6-í-s 7-l-8-s-9-r-í-s k-7-l-a-s d- k-ai-l- 14-a-15-ó-16. 4-l-é-r-é-s M-é-r-a-4-l t- Z-a-k-4-l s-8-z-ó-16. K-ó-20-é-m-ú-r 4-l-é-r-ó-m a-s- G-ó-a-ú-l-d-í-m. 4-l-é-r-é-s a-s-t-a-m-23-ó-r-8-m k-ó-m-á-16." "What do you think, Danny-boy?"

"That word could be 'sezónt.' It means 'they captured.' The 'they is also specified earlier. Here—this must be 'ilérés.' This here would be 'astam'pórem.' It means—"

"Stargate," I whispered, staring at the slip of paper. "'Help! The Goa'uld control the Stargate. They captured Mera and Zak.'"

"Yes, I believe that is the gist of it," Daniel agreed. "I can't quite get the second sentence, though. The third word seems to say 'boxes,' but that can't be right."

"What do you think it says?" I asked. "In Khéósin," I clarified before he had a chance to speak.

"Isai'íngís aulesorís kaulas dé kailó wanónt."

I wrote that down. "What's it mean?"

"'Flying metal boxes came down from the sky.'"

"Ships," I said. "Ships came down from the sky. The flying metal boxes were spaceships!"

"'They captured Mera and Zak. We think that they are Goa'uld. They control the Stargate.'" He looked up. His eyes met mine. "This is bad."

* * *

A/N (10/9/04): Okey dokey, folks. There's the first chapter. Nice and long, eh? Eight pages in Word. Hope you liked it.


	2. Through the Stargate

Stargate SG-13

Episode 1: Fantasy

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Still don't own it. I'm trying to raise enough money from selling books to buy one of the Stargates, though. I figure a trillion dollars should be enough.

A/N (10/9/04): I'm planning to be Colonel Jack O'Neill for Superhero Day at school. He killed a god, after all; I figure that makes him a superhero, right? Oh, and I'm being a Jaffa for Halloween, and my brother's going to be Jack.

"So," I concluded, after explaining the situation to General Hammond and SG-1, "first things first. We need to send a probe through. The Omalyans had to have regained control of the Stargate in order to send the message through; perhaps they can do so again."

"Why?" General O'Neill asked bluntly. "Why would they bother?"

"To let help through," I said, attempting not to use the tone of voice that implied the unspoken "of course."

"Ma'am, how will they know when to retake the Gate? They have no way of knowing whether we even understood their message," Sam protested.

I had been thinking about that myself, and had just come up with an answer. "Jim."

All heads turned toward me. Up till then they had been making a show of not looking at me when I was speaking, as if I would leave if they simply denied the fact that I was there. My presence was an unwelcome intrusion upon the Air Force control of SGC. Most of the looks I now received were blank. I had to work hard to keep from laughing, as these blank stares reminded me of the confused expression that was perpetually glued to Jim's face. Even though he had a magical talent for knowing things, he had trouble understanding what he knew.

"Lord Jim," I expounded. "One of Mera's friends. He knows things, things he has no way of knowing."

"Like what?"

"Like when we're going to go through the Stargate. Or maybe Rachel would know that; she's a seeress. It really doesn't matter. One of them should know, and neither of them were captured by the Goa'uld."

"That we know of," General O'Neill pointed out.

"Maybe I can find out. You remember when I told Chaos that I just knew things? I'm beginning to think that might actually be true. It's how I came up with Omalya in the first place. If I'm right, I should be able to tell when the Khéósinz get control of the Stargate."

"And how do we know that you're right?" Jack asked.

"Daniel, say something in Khéósin," I commanded. The idea was forming further, as I examined the implications. As I had done so many times before, I went into my imagining mode, but this time I kept part of my mind aware in order to listen to what Daniel said.

"Aset sharéna ni khéósic."

"There is order in chaos," I translated. Suddenly I grinned. "Yes! It worked! Hooah!"

"Did I miss something?" Jack asked.

"Not really," I said. "Just the fact that I should have had no idea what Daniel just said. I haven't even looked at that language in seven years, except for the message Daniel and I just translated." I concentrated for a moment, then continued speaking. "At the moment, Jim is leading a group of soldiers—they seem to be Kwanites—in a campaign to retake the Stargate. They are positioned near the Stargate, waiting for his signal. It will come when we are in position to open the Stargate from our side."

"How can we be sure this is true?" General Hammond asked.

"We can't," I said. "That's why we send a probe through before going through ourselves."

A uniformed Air Force officer walked through the door and saluted. It was my brother, Blake. What the Hell was _he_ doing here? "General Hammond, the Army is requesting to know how long Colonel Rainwater will be here." He continued to face Hammond, but looked at me through the corner of his eye.

"Thank you, Captain. Tell them we're not certain yet, but we'll let them know as soon as possible. By the way, have you met the Colonel?"

"He's my brother," I said before Blake could respond. I turned to my brother. "So this is the top-secret government project you mentioned. You could have told me the truth. I've been cleared for this since I was sixteen."

"Oh," he said, staring at me in shock. "Why'd they give you clearance?"

I looked at General Hammond. He nodded. "Go ahead."

"SG-1 went through the Stargate and ended up on Omalya. When they found out it was a world I had made up, they brought me in to translate the language."

"Oh," he said again. He blinked several times. "That's impossible."

"You'd better accept that it's possible, because I'm sending SG-13 to Omalya under the command of Colonel Rainwater."

"Sir?" Blake asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Since she has been there before, and since it seems to be her creation in the first place, she is best suited to leading a mission there."

"With all due respect, sir, I've never dealt with the Goa'uld before," I protested. I could foresee all sorts of problems with my brother under my command.

"Which is why you will be under the command of General O'Neill."

I nodded reluctantly to show that I understood.

"Captain Rainwater, as soon as you relay the message about Colonel Rainwater, I want you to report back here, along with the rest of SG-13, for debriefing on this mission."

SG-13 consisted of Blake, Lieutenant Tobeson, and Dr. Weis. Their leader, Major Smith, had bought the farm on the last mission, so at least I wasn't ousting anyone from command. Still, they were none to happy about being under the command of an Army officer.

"Alright, y'all," I began once we had all been introduced. "For now, you can call me 'Colonel' or 'ma'am.' Once we get to know each other a bit better, I might let you call me by my first name, or even by my nickname, Lightning. Blake here is my brother. We know each other pretty well, so he's allowed to call me 'Kali.' He is also my second-in-command, since he outranks the rest of you. If, for any reason, you are unable to contact me, you are to take orders from him. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Tobeson said sharply. Weis only nodded, his expression hostile. Blake did not respond. He probably couldn't think of anything clever to say. That, or being at the Air Force Academy had taught him to hold his tongue.

Weis, it seemed, would be the one to create the most problems. That came as a surprise. I had expected that there would be trouble with my brother and the Lieutenant, because they were in the Air Force, but I had thought the doctor would accept the change of leadership without comment. Apparently it was not going to be that easy.

As I led them to the Gate Room, Tobeson explained that Weis had been hoping for one of his friends, Major Svetski, to be put in charge of SG-13.

I half-expected to get lost, but after all these years, I still remembered the way to the Gate Room. SG-13 also knew where it was—better than I did, in fact—but it was best not to begin looking like a clueless pushover. First impressions are the most lasting, after all. However, if I came across anything that I genuinely didn't know, I wouldn't hesitate to admit it.

"SG-13 reporting as ordered, sir," I said, saluting General Hammond.

"Thank you, Colonel."

"SG-1 also reporting as ordered, sir," said General O'Neill, coming in behind my team. He was not about to be outdone by an upstart colonel from the Army.

"Chevron three encoded," said the man in charge of dialing the Stargate address.

"Now, I want you to understand that although you may have gone through the Stargate more often than the Colonel, she has a better working knowledge of this planet," General Hammond began.

"Chevron four encoded."

"Not only has she been there before, she has a… talent—"

"Psychic," I interrupted.

"Excuse me?"

"My theory is that I have a psychic ability to determine what is happening or has happened on that planet. It's probably aided by Omalya's magic."

"Chevron five encoded."

Major Carter threw her support behind me. "It makes sense, sir. This is not the first incident of psychic abilities we've encountered. Remember when Jonas was having precognitive visions."

"Chevron six encoded. Waiting for permission before engaging chevron seven."

That was my cue. I concentrated on Omalya, specifically the area immediately surrounding the Stargate. In my mind's eye, I could see Jim, along with several warriors Kwanite warriors. "Let's go!" he said. After a moment of surprise, I realized that he had actually spoken in Khéósin.

The warriors attacked the unsuspecting Jaffa and subdued them easily. It helped that their magic shields kept them from being affected by the staff-weapons.

"They're in position," I said. "Finish the dialing sequence."

"Chevron seven locked."

"Send the probe through," General Hammond ordered as soon as the wormhole was established.

A special device tracked the progress of the probe through the wormhole. I watched it with avid fascination. When it stopped, I marked the spot in my mind. That was where Omalya was in the galaxy.

"Receiving MALP telemetry."

I turned my attention to the computer screen. The scene was exactly as I had imagined it. It came as something of a shock. Up till that point, I hadn't been entirely sure that it would work. Just because I could imagine it didn't mean it was real.

"SG teams 1 and 13, you have a go."

SG-1 went through first. I paused just in front of the Gate.

"First time?" Lieutenant Tobeson asked sympathetically.

"No, actually, I've been through it before. It's just that it's been ten years since I've seen this thing." I shrugged. "Here goes nothing." Before I could lose my nerve, I dove through the Stargate. When I came out on the other side, I tucked and rolled.

Jack gave me one of those are-you-sure-you're-sane looks that I get all the time. I grinned at him and tossed my head.

"Salín!' Jim said as soon as we were all through.

I made a face. "English, please. I know you can speak it, and we can't speak Khéósin."

"I distinctly remember you translating a Kayosin sentence into English," said Jack.

"Khéósin," one of Jim's soldiers corrected.

"I have to concentrate in order to understand it," I explained.

"Ah." Obviously he didn't understand, but didn't care for me to confuse him further. That was just as well; I wasn't sure I understood it myself, at least not well enough to explain it to anyone else.

"So, Jim, what's the situation?" I asked.

"How do you know my name?" he demanded.

"I know things."

He blinked. "Oh."

"The situation?" I prompted.

"Mera and Zak were taken by the Goa'uld. The Jaffa warriors are taking over the planet. They are meeting stiff resistance. However, we can't hold them off indefinitely."

"And even if you could, they'd probably blow your planet to Hell," Jack put in.

"What are the other gods doing to help?"

"Nothing," Jim said. "They're afraid that if they do anything, the Goa'uld will destroy the planet from space."

"So, basically, we need to blow up their ship," I concluded. "Ships. How many ships do they have?"

"One."

"Ship, then. I was right the first time. We blow up their ship."

"Sounds good to me," Jack said approvingly.

Jim looked about him sharply. "More Jaffa on the way. Let's move."

"Right." That, of course, was Jack, but then I'm sure the reader could have figured that out for himself. And no, I'm not going to be politically correct. Political correctness is a bloody nuisance. Since I'm a girl myself, it really shouldn't bother anyone. And if it does, well, that's just too bad. This is my story, and I'm going to write it my way.

I expected us to hide in the dunes, and indeed we retired behind some out of sight of the Stargate. But then Jim began to sing. Although I made to effort to understand the words, I knew what they were, for I recognized the tune: the Song of Chaos. _I see beauty in destruction. I know hope comes from despair. Error is the best instruction. I know life is always fair. 'Cause I'm from Chaos, and that's where I'm taught. 'Cause I'm from Chaos, I'll never be caught. I'll always have hope in my heart…._ A roiling black cloud began to form nearby.

"What the Hell is _that_?" Lieutenant Tobeson demanded.

"The Chaos Tunnel," Jim replied. Not that that was any sort of explanation to Tobeson, who had never so much as heard of the Chaos Tunnel, although I suppose he could have read about it on , where I kept my stories about Mera and Zach—back then, he spelt his name with a "ch."

"It's kind of like the Stargate," I elaborated. "It can be used to travel from one place to another while only taking a few steps. Don't worry, it's perfectly safe."

"If you say so," Tobeson said skeptically.

"Trust me," I said with a grin.

"Hurry," Jim said. Following his own advice, he stepped into the cloud—yes, it was at ground level. That's part of the nature of the Chaos Tunnel. It really wouldn't do to have the entrance to the Tunnel be up in the sky—no one would ever be able to reach it.

I stepped through after Jim, emerging in a long stone tunnel. The rest of my team followed after me. Dr. Weis peered about with a calculating eye. Shortly thereafter SG-1 appeared. Jack looked around distastefully.

"Please tell me you're not taking us to meet an assassin," he said, remembering the last time he'd gone through the Chaos Tunnel, when I'd had to talk really fast to keep the assassin who called herself Chaos from killing us. Speaking of Chaos, all information about her is now extremely classified, not to be revealed to anyone without my express permission—even she can't tell people about herself unless I let her. It was mostly a political decision, which explains why it's so absurd. But that's part of the next adventure, so I'll talk no more of it here.

Jim suddenly decided to look anywhere but at Jack. Since the Chaos Tunnel was rather featureless, his gaze settled on me. "Actually, I was planning to take you to meet Nai'óbí. I think she could be of great help in whatever you're planning to do."

I grimaced. Nai'óbí _was_ Chaos—sort of.

"Nai'óbí?" Jack asked.

"She works for Chaos," Jim explained in my general direction.

Actually, that was the story she told the rest of the world. Chaos was, in fact, a persona she had created, nothing more than a myth. He—yes, he—was an assassin, the most skilled assassin ever—until Jacob beat him. Jacob, Prince of Relgar, who was now married to Nai'óbí.

"Look, Jack," I said. "Nai'óbí works for Chaos. We've met Chaos, and _he_ didn't kill us." I stressed the "he" in order to keep Jack from letting slip that Chaos was female. I hadn't yet decided to let on about Chaos's true identity to those present. I'd let her make that decision for herself. I'd probably made a mistake ten years ago in letting SG-1 know who she really was. Not her name—they didn't know that—but the fact that the name of Chaos matched up to the face of a certain woman, who was married to Prince Jacob of Relgar. "If we tell Nai'óbí, I'm sure she'll be impressed."

"You're positive?"

I thought about that for a moment. No, she wouldn't be impressed. After all, whyever would anyone be impressed that someone had met them before? "Actually, I take that back. But I _am_ certain that she won't kill us."

"She'll know you're lying," Jim declared.

_Why does he think we're lying?_ I wondered. It couldn't be his talent; what that told him was always true. It really didn't matter; Nai'óbí would recognize Jack, at the very least. She didn't kill us before, so she wouldn't kill us now. She. He. I'd called Chaos a "he." Of course Jim would know the truth; he was an Immortal.

I blinked. I'd never thought of him as an Immortal before, but I knew the title was correct. So. It seemed I could learn things about Omalya without even trying. Kind of like Jim, actually. His talent was mostly not under conscious control.

"Actually, Jim, she'll know we're telling the truth. Don't you think I know who Chaos is? No secret is safe from me. On the other hand, most secrets are safe _with_ me." _Jim, don't you dare even think of blabbing who Chaos really is! Let_ her _decide just how much she wants us to know about her._

"Eh, Jim," Daniel said. "Eghís Khéósil asé sa'il palíem skímúr. Tobeson, Rainwater, té Weis ófin skínt." _We know Chaos is a girl. Tobeson, Rainwater, and Weis don't._

Jim looked sharply at Tobeson and Dr. Weis. "Sínglé aset khórsé."

_Khórsé_ I definitely recognized that word. _Khórsé__ Korinth. Traitor Korinth._ Jim had known Korinth, knew Korinth was no traitor, knew the pain it caused Korinth to be falsely accused. _One of them is a traitor._ He wouldn't make that accusation lightly.

Jack must have felt the tension building. "What did he say?"

Daniel looked at me. I shook my head slightly. "I'm not entirely sure, Jack. I told him we knew who Chaos was, and I think he accused me of lying, but he used a very antique dialect. I couldn't quite make it out."

"Why was he looking at Lieutenant Tobeson and Dr. Weis?"

"Maybe he knew they don't know who Chaos is, sir," I suggested—somewhat absently, for I was trying to use my Omalya-sense to figure out which one was the traitor. It wasn't working; perhaps it only worked on true Omalyans, or on people with magic in them. All Omalyans have some degree of magic. Eventually I gave it up. I would have to figure it out the hard way. And I would have to make sure everyone else was aware of the danger. "Khéósil démód," I told Jim. _Warn Chaos._ To Daniel, I said, "Jackil lét démód." _Warn Jack later._

"Savé," Daniel replied. He understood.

Now all that was left to do was hope this didn't blow up in my face.

Music playing in the background. Action shots of all the characters. Shots of the Stargate. A.k.a. that cool commercial advertising Stargate.

Elfcarii: Daniel definitely rocks. And Sha're (or Sha'uri in the movie) is still alive. I don't care what anyone says, in my universe she's still alive. So there! And the fact is, I wasn't a Stargate fan until a couple months ago. Somehow my little brother managed to get me hooked. He's been congratulating himself ever since.


	3. Assassin

Stargate SG-13

Episode 1: Chaos

Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own the Stargate. However, I have a team from Omalya working on finding yet another Stargate on Earth, and if they do, their orders are to bring it to me as a souvenir. A Stargate makes one big honkin' souvenir, don't you agree?

Elfcarii: Yes, Sha're did die, in the episode "Forever in a Day." But in _my_ reality, Teal'c shot her with a zat, thus not killing her, thus she is still alive. Which will become an important part of another episode. Fun episode. I was working on writing it recently. Very fun. Poor Danny-boy, though. He never realized I had a crush on him. I should tease him about it relentlessly. Just like I tease Chris Kiley because he's cute. He thinks it's really wrong that I think that because I'm two years older than him. His reactions are quite amusing, actually.

A/N (12/15/04): Sorry about the long wait. It may end up being even longer, but I'm trying. I've been working on other SG-13 episodes. I'm planning to type up the prequel to this (Stargate SG-1: World of Magic) after I finish typing this story. I may even start it before I finish this one. I have it all written out already, but there are a few changes I may want to make.

"Have we met?" That was Jack's reaction upon being introduced to Nai'óbí.

"Why, I do believe we have," Nai'óbí replied as if it were the most amazing thing in the world.

Jack turned to face me. "Explain."

"Later, sir," I said. "In private."

He nodded. "It had better be good."

I jerked my eyebrows up in a self-deprecating way. I now had a limited time to come up with a way to explain Nai'óbí that would be acceptable to Jack. The hardest part was going to be her identity as Chaos. I was in trouble, there was no doubt about it.

"So, who's in charge here?" Nai'óbí asked.

Before Jack could open his mouth, I answered, "I'll handle any negotiations."

"Are you authorized to decide how much to pay me for my help?"

No, I wasn't, but I wasn't about to tell her that. If I didn't get permission after the fact, I could always pay her myself, out of my earnings from my books.

I took a quick peek inside her mind. It was sneaky and underhanded, but that's my preferred method. Five years in Military Intelligence had erased all moral training instilled in me at West Point. I had to know what I was dealing with. I had to know how much was the least she'd accept.

What I found should not have surprised me. She was prepared to help us for nothing, but was trying to extort some money out of us all the same.

"We're not going to pay you anything," I announced.

Jack gave me one of those are-you-sure looks. "Trust me," I said.

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Not if I can help it." I smiled.

Nai'óbí looked distinctly put off. "If you displease me, I can kill you where you stand."

"You want to threaten us? Two can play that game. I know who you are," I said. It was a bluff, as was her threat to kill us; neither of us would carry out our threat. However, the threats were only implied; if I explicitly threaten something, and someone tries to "call my bluff," they'll learn that I wasn't bluffing. I decided long ago that the best policy was only to make threats that I was willing to carry out.

"Akhíód!" she swore. "I forgot. You _do_ know who I am. Fine, I shall help you at no charge. What is it you need me to do?"

I took a moment to gather my thoughts together. "Ah, we would like you to help us rescue a couple of gods. Méra and Zak, to be precise."

Nai'óbí just looked at me with that you've-got-to-be-kidding expression. "You are joking, yes?"

"Ah, no," I replied. "It's a long story. The thing is, we need your help. And you just agreed to help us."

"Yes, I did." She sighed. "You realize that if this gets out it will ruin my reputation."

"For what?" I asked. "Rumor has it that Jacob has reformed you. It's rather hard to hide the fact that you're in love with him."

"Oh." She looked rather disappointed. "I thought I had been doing a rather good job."

"Not quite good enough. Maybe you should take lessons from me. I'm madly in love with General O'Neill, but he doesn't even realize it."

"Whoa there," Jack said. "Just a minute. That is just so wrong, on so many levels."

"I know. Isn't it though? That's why I said it. Beautiful reaction, though, sir."

Jack looked like he wanted to pound his head on a nearby wall. He even looked about for a convenient barrier. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending—there were no walls within several yards of us, the room in which we were situated being very large. Or should I say extremely large? Instead, he turned to Blake. "Is she always like this?"

"Well, it depends on your definition of 'like this.' Within a few millionths of a personality percentage point, yes. But within a few quadrillionths, maybe not."

Yep, that's my little brother, alright.

"Is that even a word?" Jack asked.

"What?"

"Quadrillionth." Surprisingly, he actually managed to pronounce it correctly.

"Actually, it is," I informed him. I have a habit of doing that. Answering for other people, that is. "A quadrillion is the next level up from trillion."

"Ah."

"So, where exactly are Méra and Zak?"

"They're on a spaceship."

"Spaceship?" Nai'óbí hadn't heard the word before. With her, however, I wasn't surprised when she pronounced it correctly. She was Khéósin, after all.

"Big flying metal thing. Up in the sky."

"But the sky is where they have the most power."

"Not exactly." I really didn't want to ruin her religion, nor did I want to get into a religious argument with her, but we really needed her help. "They are powerful, but only within Omalya's planetary system."

She looked at me quizzically.

Okay. Take this from the beginning. "Imagine a little ball right here. That's Omalya. Now imagine an even smaller ball orbiting it—that means going like this around it. That's the Moon. Now imagine a much bigger ball, here. Omalya goes like this around the big ball, which is the Sun. Now here's the hard part. Imagine a sphere encompassing all of it. That's as far as Méra and Zak's power goes. Imagine a little tiny dot outside the sphere. That's the spaceship. They're outside the place with magic, so they have no power. They're just ordinary mortals, even more ordinary than they were before they died because now they have no magic."

Nai'óbí seemed to be understanding. For the most part. "So we just have to bring the spaceship back inside the sphere, and Méra and Zak can take it from there. But why did they allow themselves to be caught in the first place?"

"They were distracted, and they were caught by surprise. Their captors knocked them unconscious." It was the truth. I had a feeling Nai'óbí would accept nothing less. Okay, I take that back. I _knew_ Nai'óbí would accept nothing less.

Nai'óbí cast a searching glance in my direction. "I don't trust you."

"Well I don't trust you either, love, so we're square."

She smiled and nodded. "As long as we're clear. I shall go and tell Jacob where I am going."


	4. The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men

Stargate SG-13

Episode 1: Fantasy

Chapter 4

Okey dokey folks, here's Chapter 4. Hope y'all like it!

A/N (12/15/04): Wasn't a Jaffa for Halloween. Didn't get my costume made in time. Ended up being Colonel Rainwater, and my brother was Jack. My dad was General Hammond and he almost didn't open the iris for us.

As soon as Nai'óbí left, Jack pulled me aside. "She's that Chaos persona, isn't she?"

I sighed. "Yes, sir, she is. Her real name is Nai'óbí. No one's supposed to know she's really Chaos. She pretends to work for Chaos, but now Chaos works for Jacob. It's all very complicated. She doesn't trust me, but I know who she really is, and I'm holding that over her head. She really doesn't want her people to know that their queen is actually the assassin sent to kill their king—before he was their king, of course."

"Stop, please," Jack said. "You're giving me a headache."

"Good. That was the point."

Jack groaned. "You'd remind me of Carter, except she's not this annoying."

I grinned in response. "I think I'll take that as a complement, sir."

"You do that."

"Oh, by the way, sir, you need to watch out for Tobeson and Dr. Weis. Jim says one of them is a traitor."

"You trust him?" Jack asked incredulously.

"With my life. You forget, I've read his thoughts for the past several thousand years."

"How would he know?"

"He knows things. It's a talent he has."

We rejoined the others, myself feeling very much relieved, Jack looking rather thoughtful and disturbed by what I'd told him. _Well, that went exactly as planned._ Jack was pretty unpredictable, so I hadn't been entirely sure how he'd react, but I'd hoped that my confusing explanation would send his mind spinning in circles. If I didn't already have it all straight, half the things I talked about would send _my_ mind spinning in circles. I'd perfected my techniques in high school, describing my stories to the school nurse. The ones that involved myself as a main character were especially confusing. I'd keep switching from talking about the me in the story to talking about the me in real life. And since most of the stuff that was mentioned in the story really happened to me, it was hard to keep track of how much was fact and how much was fiction.

Tobeson asked permission to go search for temples. I thought for a moment, then gave him directions to the nearest one. I wondered briefly why he wanted to go there, and decided to watch him using my newfound psychic skills. Even if I couldn't read his mind, I could at least see what he was doing. He made a face. "It defeats the purpose when you already know all about this place, ma'am."

I changed the subject. "I didn't know you were interested in temples."

"Culture, ma'am," he corrected. "Temples are usually the center of culture. That's my job on the team. I replaced the last cultural expert when he died on a mission."

I'd noticed from reading the mission reports that there was a high incidence of fatality on SG-13. Tobeson had only been on the team for a year, Blake for two years, and Dr. Weis had only joined the team a few months ago. So we were all fairly new, and my brother was actually the most senior member of the team. Very unlike SG-1, which I knew had been together for at least ten years, and I believed had been a team for eight years before that. I was itching to get my hands on _their_ mission reports, but I doubted I'd be allowed. All I knew for sure was that my team was a sort of back-up SG-1. Even though we were new, we were best suited for adapting to new situations. We even had a real medical doctor with us—Dr. Weis—something of which SG-1 could not boast.

Nai'óbí was back quickly. "Jacob doesn't like it, but he can't do anything about it."

_That's not right,_ I thought. _There is something he could do about it. He could publicly order you not to come with us._ But I knew he wouldn't do that, so it really didn't matter.

Dr. Weis sent a dark look in Nai'óbí's direction. I was really beginning not to like the man. We really didn't need him on our team. But he wasn't the one I suspected. If he really were the traitor, he wouldn't act so infuriating. That is, if he were any good. "She's the agent of an assassin, Colonel. Do you really think it wise to have her with us?"

"I trust her," I said with an absolutely straight face. _Just about as far as I can throw her. And she'd throw me first._

Nai'óbí immediately took command of our little operation. Not that I minded too terribly much. She was used to telling people what to do. Jack wasn't very happy, but she just gave him a look and told him that this was her planet, not his, and as Queen of Relgar she had the political power here. Besides, this was going to involve sneaking around, wasn't it? How else were we going to take over a spaceship with only nine people?

"She is correct, O'Neill," Teal'c said in that overly-correct way he has of speaking. "However, we have more experience fighting the Goa'uld. Perhaps O'Neill should be in charge of this expedition."

"Do you always talk like that?" I asked.

"Indeed."

"Good," I said. "You're making Grammar Cop very happy." Grammar Cop is this personality that sits in my head and gets annoyed whenever she comes across bad grammar, spelling, or punctuation. She sometimes even gets annoyed when I used bad grammar. Not that it stops me. Usually.

"First we need a way to get to this spaceship," Nai'óbí said.

"I'll fly us up," Blake offered.

"Have you ever flown a spaceship?" Jack demanded.

"Well, not in space, no," Blake admitted.

"Then Teal'c will fly us up," Jack said.

"I have a better idea," Nai'óbí said. "Why don't we get more than one spaceship? These—what do you call them, Death Gliders?—hold only two people, yes? That means we will need several pilots. One for every two people." She looked at me as if she expected me to volunteer.

I held up my arms defensively. "Look, Nai'óbí, there's a reason I went into the Army and not the Air Force. I'm scared of heights. I'll freak as soon as we hit a thousand feet. I wouldn't trust myself to fly an airplane, much less a spaceship."

Luckily I didn't have to.

A/N (2/29/05): I finished writing the story several weeks ago. Only just now got back to typing it up. If I get nice reviews I'll be sure to type the next chapter soon. If I don't get nice reviews I'll hold a zat to your heads until you give me good reviews. Savvy?


	5. We're Gonna Die

A/N (2/27/05): Sometimes I wonder if anyone's even reading this. If you are, please review. Just so I know how I'm doing. Although my mentor tells me I'm doing fine. In fact, she says she thinks I can get "Death and His Shadow" published. Problem is, that's a totally different style than this.

Lol! I just came across the place where my drama teacher checked off my story because she thought it was my drama journal. She said that it was very thoughtful, as I recall. It's the part where I'm telling Jim how useless he is.

So we found ourselves a spaceship. Don't ask me how; I don't rightly recall. I think it was Nai'óbí who found it, but I could be wrong. I don't really care. I was bored most of the time anyway. I amused myself for a while by walking around with my eyes closed, using my psychic powers to keep from running into walls, but a person can only do that for so long before it palls. When I bored of that, I drew. Psychic powers are a great asset for an artist. I didn't have to keep looking up at what I was drawing; I could see it while still looking at the paper. Except it was more parchment than paper, because I wasn't about to delve into my stash of real paper just so I could draw some things. Besides, all the paper I'd brought with me was lined.

Finally someone brought back the news that a spaceship had been found. Probably Jim. Yeah, it must've been Jim. He'd enlisted Vaira to help kill the Jaffa warriors inside the small ship. She burned them. Not a pleasant way to die.

More Jaffa were sent down in death gliders to see what had happened to the first batch. They were also burned alive.

Jack assigned us all to death gliders based on team and flying experience. Naturally, I got stuck with the kid.

"You ever flown one of these things before?" I asked as I strapped into the back seat. It smelled faintly of scorched flesh. A very sickly-sweet smell akin in my mind to burnt marshmallow. Actually, burnt marshmallow isn't that bad anymore, since that time when we did a chemical reaction involving Osama bin Gummy Bear and the room smelled like burnt marshmallow for the rest of the day.

Blake gave me a superior look. "I've done better than anyone else in simulations."

"I'm sure you have," I said patronizingly, "but that doesn't answer my question. Have you ever actually flown one before?" Actually, at this point I wasn't entirely certain I wanted to know, and was proceeding on pure stubbornness. Either he hadn't flown one, or he'd crashed the only one he had flown.

"No, but that's beside the point," he said defensively. He went on to give me a lecture about how good the simulations were.

Some things never change.

"Kid," I interrupted, "shut up and fly this thing or I'll give _you_ a lecture on different types of make-up."

He didn't shut up, but he did start up the death glider.

"So, Blake," I said casually. "Do you remember the difference between lipstick and lip gloss?" Then I launched into _my_ lecture.

Nai'óbí's glider got to the mothership before ours did. That wasn't very hard to do, since Blake and I got there last. I could see her in my head as she took out the Jaffa warriors who seemed to be expecting her. There was no sign of the others. She and Jim, who had flown her glider (apparently he'd had one of those insights of his that told him how the thing worked) secured the immediate area and settled down to wait for us laggards.

An order went out throughout the ship for the Jaffa to go to the glider launch bay.

"Get ready for company, kid," I said.

I had to hand it to him, the kid _could_ fly. _I_ couldn't _shoot_, but _he_ could _fly_.

We managed to land safely in the launch bay, no thanks to my shooting, most of which hit the big mothership and not the little gliders. Although I think I actually managed to damage the big ship a little bit. We were greeted by the Jaffa who'd been left behind in case of this eventuality. Unfortunately for them, Nai'óbí had discovered the wonders of the zat'nikatel. As soon as the area pressurized, she came out of one of the gliders and shot the Jaffa as they entered the bay.

"The groups you call SG-1 and SG-13 have been taken prisoner," Nai'óbí reported. "We are the only ones to remain."

"Yes, yes, I know," I said impatiently. I caught a question on her mind: _How does she know? Lord Jim's powers are gone here; hers should be too._ "I'll explain later, Nai'óbí. For now, you'll just have to trust me." I took a deep breath. "Okay, I guess this leaves me in charge. So here's what we do: we get to the bridge, take over the ship, and fly it into Omalyan space. Jim, any clues on how to fly this thing?"

"I can fly it," Blake said confidently. Oh dear God.

"Who don't we free Méra and Zak and your friends and escape in the gliders?" Jim demanded.

I was _so_ tempted to say, "Because I said so," but I knew that it would just cause problems. Blake would follow orders (hopefully), and for some reason Nai'óbí trusted me, but Jim was a stubborn son of a gun, and he wanted answers. "Because these guys know your weakness, and we can't let them get away." _And we can't afford to take the time to rescue the others. It would give the Goa'uld time that we just don't have to spare._ Plus I didn't know which one of Tobeson or Weis was the traitor, and I didn't want to find out the hard way. "Okay, Jim, you're sort of the useless one here—sorry, but you are—so you put on one of those shining armor deals and go report to the Goa'uld head honcho dude that the intruders were killed, but so were most of the Jaffa sent to subdue them. Here." I reached into my pocket and scrounged around until I encountered something that felt like a pen. At least, I thought it did. I don't know how I could have confused my liquid eyeliner with a pen, but I did. I don't even know what the eyeliner was doing in my pocket in the first place. It didn't really matter; the eyeliner would work better than a pen anyway. "Observe, Blake, one of the many uses of liquid eyeliner." I opened the eyeliner and used it to draw the Jaffa warrior dude symbol on Jim's forehead. It was the snakey symbol like the one on the foreheads of the real Jaffa warriors. I have some talent for art, and drawing symbols is my strength, so it turned out pretty well.

"Let's find the bridge," I said to Nai'óbí and Blake as Jim left.

"It's this way," Blake said confidently, leading us in the opposite direction from the one in which Jim had gone. He had a pretty good sense of direction, so I trusted him. Even though I wanted him to be _wrong_. He could be so bossy at times.

Well, it turned out he was right. We didn't encounter any real trouble, just a couple of Jaffa patrols which we evaded easily. I swear, hatak vessels were designed for sneaking.

So, anyhoo, we made it to the bridge without incident and killed the Jaffa who were there. Luckily Mr. Head Honcho Goa'uld _wasn't_ there. Black closed the doors and shot out the mechanisms to open them. He stood in front of the controls and placed his hand in the middle. The controls, by the way, looked more like a palm scanner than the controls to a spaceship.

The ship didn't more. It still wasn't moving about an hour later when Mr. Head Honcho Goa'uld decided he wanted onto the bridge and started banging on the doors.

"I thought you said you could fly this thing," I said to Blake.

"I'm trying," he said defensively.

"Well, stop _trying_ and start _doing_."

The door opened a crack, and the Jaffa began to fire at us.

"Nai'óbí, help me hold them off!" We positioned ourselves behind barriers and fired back at the Jaffa through the crack in the door. Nai'óbí was hit by a zat blast, but she shook it off quickly and returned fire.

Finally Blake got the ship moving—so abruptly it threw all of us against the walls with enough force to knock us out. Well, except for me. See, I'm half-cat (not really, that's just something I say, but I think I was a cat in a past life), so I managed to land on my feet against the wall. Or, rather, foot. And it wasn't a very good landing. Actually, it was a very _bad_ landing. It broke my left leg.

I started cursing in about twenty different languages, interspersed with rants at my unconscious brother for ruining my record of having never broken a bone in my life.

Meanwhile, the ship continued to speed toward Omalyan space. I hopped on one leg toward the control panel hand scanner thingamajig, hoping that I'd be able to slow us down before we crashed into the planer. Unfortunately, I had no more luck than Blake, but I refused to give up. _Dum__ spiro, spero._

_Oh, God, I'm going to die. I don't want to die. What will my parents think? What will Hammond_ tell _them? "I'm sorry, your son and daughter were involved in an accident while working in __Cheyenne__Mountain__. No, we can't tell you what happened. It's classified. No, we weren't able to recover the bodies." God. We're supposed to be studying deep-space radar telemetry. Well, at least we'll die on Omalya. Maybe we'll become ghosts. Maybe Zak will resurrect us. Come on, damn ship, slow dow—ow!_ I was thrown forward across the controls as the ship slowed abruptly. "I thought there were supposed to be inertial dampeners on these things," I said to no one in particular. I remembered that much from Blake's lecture.

"You shot them in the firefight," Jim informed me as he entered the bridge.

"Ow," I replied, unable to form a more coherent response.

"Rachel!" Jim called over his shoulder. "Our rescuer needs help."


	6. Epilogue

Disclaimer: Although I do not own Earth's Stargate, I believe I have a claim to the one on Omalya.

I would just like to take this opportunity to thank my lovely reviewer Tempus1. You are a wonderful person, Tempus. Although your reviews were short, you told me exactly what you liked about my story. By the way, Tempus, I have good news. Although this is, sadly, the last chapter to this story, I am currently working on the next episode, which is called "Assassin." And after that, there are plenty more episodes which I plan to write.

Last chapter, we left me sitting on the bridge of the ship with a broken leg. Jim had just called for his wife, Lady Rachel, who was sort of the angel of healing. She had my leg fixed up in no time at all, good as new. It was as if it had never been broken. "Ah, the wonders of Omalya. No storm sensing for me. I think I'll retire here when I'm done saving the universe."

The ship landed safely on Omalyan soil, thanks to the help of some friendly Gods. Rachel examined the bruises suffered by the others due to Blake's oh-so-wonderful flying.

Blake groaned and sat up. "What happened?"

"You broke my leg," I said, glaring at them.

"It wasn't my fault. There were supposed to be inertial dampeners! How was I to know they weren't working?" Then he actually took a look at the aforementioned appendage. "It doesn't look broken."

"Rachel fixed it."

"So why are you yelling at me? And who's Rachel?"

I proceeded to give him Rachel's entire life story, much to the surprise of said Immortal.

Eventually, we all said our good-byes, but not before Méra insisted on giving us all cool outfits to wear, saying that our uniforms just wouldn't do. Jack said mine made me look like a System Lord. Apparently they're the _real_ head honcho Goa'ulds. Anyhoo, I decided not to wear it except in private, when the desire to play dress-up came over me. Or I could wear it whenever I felt like freaking Jack out.

We made our way back to the Stargate. I stepped through, formerly broken left leg first. Eleven years ago, I would've used my right leg, but that was before I went to West Point.

Then I was out, on the Earth side of the Gate. As soon as I put my weight on my leg, it broke. Again. I fell ignominiously face-first on the ramp, wincing from the pain. Blake was right behind me, and when he came out of the Stargate, just to add insult to injury, he _stepped_ on me.

"Blake," I said through gritted teeth, "you are _so_ dead."

And that's the end of the story, folks. Tune in next Friday for an all-new episode of Stargate SG-13. Not really, I'll probably get it started before then, but maybe someday I will be writing shows for the Sci Fi channel. You know, ten years from now when I'm a famous author working for the SGC.


End file.
